


OOC

by yeaka



Series: Random Roleswaps [13]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 19:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16859665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis picks up after his prince.





	OOC

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brachydios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brachydios/gifts).



> A/N: This is for a series of random roleswaps; lemme know if you want one. This one’s for Brachydios’ “Prince!ignis and adviser!noct (gen)” suggestion.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

For the first time in the ten years that they’ve known each other, Ignis doesn’t answer Noctis’ text immediately. He knows it shouldn’t automatically set warning bells off in his head—his prince is a busy young man who’s finally developing some semblance of a social life, and it’s unreasonable to expect that he always be at Noctis’ beck and call. Besides that, Noctis is supposed to be the one at _Ignis’_ call. So when Ignis doesn’t answer Noctis’ regular check-in on the latest council reports he’s relayed to his young prince, Noctis simply hops in the car to go ask in person.

His own car isn’t quite as handsome as the Regalia, but the route to Ignis’ apartment is a familiar one, and a short one, because Noctis made sure to move as close as possible. He’s let into the underground parking without a word to the attendant; Noctis might not be an _official_ resident of the expensive building, but he may as well be. He checks his phone again as he waits in the elevator, but there’s nothing new there—from Ignis, anyway. Prompto wants to meet with him to discuss Ignis’ training. As the elevator doors woosh open on the prince’s floor, Noctis types back a quick ‘ _sure._ ’ Then he’s pocketing his phone and heading for Ignis’ door. A part of him wonders if the stringent royal and scholastic duties have finally tuckered Ignis out, causing him to go to bed this early in the evening. Noctis is the first person to preach the benefit of naps. But somehow, he can’t see Ignis breaking routine.

He doesn’t bother to knock on the door, because he’s got his own keys, and just in case Ignis actually is resting, Noctis doesn’t want to wake him. He pushes the door open, steps inside, then pauses, because the normally pristine entryway is a mess of knocked-over shoes and coats. Coats _on the floor._ Stunned, Noctis moves them to the hanger before he shuts and locks the door.

He’d worry about a break-in, because the Prince Ignis he knows would _never_ discard clothes in such a messy fashion, except that he can already hear the culprit from the living room. The loud, obnoxious soundtrack from the latest Justice Monsters racing side-game is blaring through the air. Noctis rounds the corner just as Gladiolus bursts into hysterics. 

Ignis, bent forward over his controller, lets out a miserable groan. On the wide-screen television, what’s left of his car is rolling way out of bounds. What must be Gladiolus’ side of the screen is already showing the finish line. That’s another small shock: Ignis usually creams Noctis in the virtual world. Clearly, his new school friend is one to watch out for. 

Gladiolus is the first to notice Noctis, but then Ignis catches on, looking up and abruptly blushing. Noctis can tell why. The usually spotless living room is a pigsty. The video game collection’s been stripped off the bookshelf, scattered across the floor instead, cases lying open and CDs upended. Ignis’ tie is draped over a chair, a spare hoodie strewn across the coffee table. There’s an open pizza box on the floor, two overturned takeout bags plopped around it. The sink’s full of dishes. The counter’s full of other dishes. Noctis was just over yesterday.

Gladiolus finally grunts, “Hey.”

Noctis answers, “Hey,” then whistles and tells Ignis, “I can’t believe I vouched for you when you said you could manage living on your own.”

Ignis opens his mouth, looking utterly ashamed already, but Noctis isn’t finished having fun. He shakes his head and plucks at one of the bunched-up napkins on the counter. “And to think you used to be such a good kid...” He sighs dramatically. “But without maids around to look after you, you inevitably fall into squalor...”

Gladiolus snorts, looking as amused as Noctis feels. Ignis splutters, “I didn’t—I’m not—” But he doesn’t get much more out. Noctis is perfectly aware of what’s happened here: Gladiolus came in like a whirlwind and made a mess of everything. Maybe Ignis was too polite to set boundaries, or maybe he was too caught up in having a good time to think about cleanliness for once. Either way, Noctis knows it’s not his fault, but it’s still fun to tease. 

Obviously mortified, Ignis insists, “I was going to clean it all up!” Then he actually shoots off the couch, setting his controller down on the coffee table, and hurries over to pick up the crumb-covered pizza box.

Noctis gets there first. He brings it over to the garbage to shake out before he recycles it. As much fun as it is to poke at Ignis, it’s even better to see him truly enjoying himself, with as little restraint as most young men his age. He has too much on his shoulders too much of the time, so he definitely deserves a break. And as much as Noctis hates cleaning himself, he loves Ignis enough to provide that. With a chuckle in his voice, he promises, “It’s okay. Go hang out with your friend.”

“I will pick up,” Ignis says. Noctis shakes his head.

“I got this one.”

“Iggy,” Gladiolus chimes in, “let him do it—we’ve got a score to settle.” He gestures towards the television, where the next race is started but on pause. 

“Get your practice in while you can,” Noctis warns. “I plan to join in after.”

Ignis hesitates, then nods. He gives Noctis a grateful, “Thank you,” before returning to his squalor.


End file.
